


Dressing Room

by threeplusfire



Series: Filthy Money [5]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, semi public sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Can we at least bang in the dressing room?”<br/>“Maybe,” Trott teased. “You’ll have to try something on first, though.”</p><p>Set during the university days in the Venture Capitalist AU. Trott convinces Smith there are clothes worth wearing other than jeans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dressing Room

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [the lovely sweater found here](http://beekleidet.tumblr.com/post/131654629256/retrodrive-casual-male-fashion-blog), I felt like writing something care free and happy. I've thought a lot about the early days of the relationships in the VC universe and it felt fun to just write about some ridiculous university boys being young and in love. 
> 
> Dedicated to Bee, who loves clothes and is a constant source of inspiration and delight.

Smith stared skeptically at the store from his spot in the passenger seat. The parking lot wasn’t terribly crowded, since it was mid afternoon on a Wednesday. Neither of them had classes, and Smith had agreed easily when Trott suggested going somewhere. He’d spent most of the ride messing with the stereo in Trott’s car, singing along to whatever he could find on the radio. 

“Trott, what are we doing?” Smith asked.

“We’re going shopping, I told you that.” Trott pulled the keys out of the ignition.

“Yeah but I thought you meant like, shopping for groceries or something.”

“Well,” Trott said with a little sigh. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait.” Smith turned in his seat, fixing Trott with a serious stare. “ _Who_ are we shopping for?”

“You, obviously.” Trott gestured at Smith’s clothes. He wore his Yale sweatshirt, one of the several he owned in various colors. The letters were cracked and faded from too many trips through the laundromat. It was incredibly comfortable and warm though. Trott liked to put it on when Smith stayed over at his place, wearing it around the apartment. 

_“Whyyyyyy?”_ Smith asked, dragging out the word. He narrowed his eyes.

“Because you can’t spend your entire life dressed like a teenage boy, that’s why.”

“What’s wrong with how I dress?” Smith exclaimed, flinging his hands out to the side. 

“Look-”

“No, you look!” Smith sulked in his seat. “You like this sweatshirt, you wear it enough. I’m comfortable. It’s not like I need to dress up for class or anything.” 

“Your jeans have holes in them, Smith.” Trott raised his eyebrows. There were at least three, counting the place along Smith’s knee where the seam had ripped open. 

“I’m going to put holes in your jeans in a minute,” Smith muttered.

“I am not wearing jeans,” Trott said a little facetiously. His fingers tapped an impatient beat on the steering wheel. Trott owned exactly one pair of jeans and only wore them on the weekends and sometimes not even then. He was too used to the uniform days of his high school, and living almost exclusively in black or khaki trousers.

“What’s wrong with jeans?” grumbled Smith. He liked these jeans. They were sufficiently worn and comfortable. He planned on wearing them until the zipper stopped working.

“There’s nothing wrong with jeans,” Trott sighed. “There are just other things out there you might try wearing.” 

“Ugh,” Smith sighed, sinking lower in the seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. He did not feel thrilled about the prospect of buying clothes. It felt like an enormous waste of time. Time he could be using to do just about anything else.

“Humor me,” Trott said, reaching over to finger comb Smith’s messy hair. It was getting long again and needed a trim.

“Can we at least bang in the dressing room?”

“Maybe,” Trott teased. “You’ll have to try something on first, though.”

 

* * *

 

Inside the store, Smith trailed along behind Trott, hands in his pockets. They wandered between the mannequins and the racks of clothes. Trott had already given up trying to get Smith to express interest in anything, and was just now picking out things he thought might look good on him. 

“What do you think, green or blue?” Trott gestured at the rack of button down shirts, hoping one of the jewel toned plaids might appeal to Smith.

“Mate, I don’t care.”

Trott sighed and looked over his shoulder at Smith.

“Could you please-”

“Fine, yeah, blue.” Smith grabbed the shirt from the rack. “You want me to try some of this on?”

“Yeah.” Trott glanced around, looking for the dressing rooms. They were lucky, avoiding the couple wandering salespeople to slip into a room together. Trott thrust the armful of clothes at Smith, and slid the bolt on the door.

“Trott, this is ridiculous, you can’t expect me to pay this much for one shirt.” Smith looked askance at the price tags.

“It’s one nice shirt that you will wear for a long time,” Trott said. “It’s worth it.”

“I could get like three t-shirts for this.”

“Three shirts that will fall apart and fade, and make you look like you’re still a teenager.  None of which you can wear to a nice restaurant.”

Smith grimaced. He tugged off his sweatshirt, and the paper thin shirt he had on underneath. Trott couldn’t even make out what the logo on the front was, just a few grey smudges on the once blue shirt.

“Well, give it.” Smith shrugged into the blue plaid shirt, fastening up the buttons. Trott leaned against the wall of the small room, arms crossed.

“That’s actually alright,” Smith said, sounding surprised. 

Trott smirked behind Smith’s back, pleased. It was a nice look on him, and Trott felt vindicated. Smith slid his feet out of his sneakers, and took the dark chocolate brown chinos Trott held out.

“Ugh, these are not going to fit.”

“They’re your size.”

“They don’t feel right.” Smith wriggled them up his legs, vaguely discomfited by the sensation of the fabric.

“You’re just too used to wearing jeans that are barely held together,” Trott said. “They’re just cut differently, not so baggy.”

Smith pulled the chinos up, zipping them. He turned sideways to the mirror, holding up the tail end of the shirt as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. 

“You like nice,” Trott offered. He did. Trott liked the shirt, and the way the chinos highlighted all the rangy, long legged beauty Smith had.

“I look...” Smith frowned. “Okay, I guess. Different.”

“Here, try on the sweater.” Trott tossed the burgundy sweater at him. His plan of picking up clothes in colors he knew Smith liked would hopefully pay off, and they could leave with at least a couple things. Trott didn’t really actually mind Smith’s complete lack of sartorial taste. But he’d like to be able to take him home, and not worry about whether he had anything to wear at dinner that wouldn’t make his mother raise her eyebrows in her judgmental way. Staring at Smith’s socks, he made a mental note to find him some new shoes and socks as well. 

“The sweater is nice,” Smith said grudgingly. Trott glanced up, and found himself pleasantly surprised by the sight of Smith in new clothes. 

“It does look nice,” Trott agreed. “Is it comfortable?”

“It’s really soft.” Smith turned around, adjusting the collar. He rubbed his cheek against it. “I like the color.”

Trott pushed away from the wall and stepped close enough to run his hand up Smith’s back. It was velvety to the touch, the weave dense and smooth. He liked the vertical ribbing of it, and the way it made him want to wrap his arms around Smith. 

“Definitely buying this then.” Trott traced the lines of the sweater up and down Smith’s back.

“Trott, it- look at that price tag. I can’t buy that!”

“I’m buying it,” Trott said firmly.

“What? No! Why?” Smith looked surprised.

“Because I want to dress you,” Trott murmured, standing behind Smith. He pushed him against the mirror. “And then I want to take it off you.”

“Oh.” Smith arched his back, moving his hips back against Trott. “Is that the game?”

“Maybe.” Trott slid an arm around Smith’s waist. He tangled his other hand in Smith’s hair. Pulling Smith’s head back, he slowly slid his hand down over Smith’s crotch. 

“Yes,” Smith breathed out, eyes closed. He stiffened under the casual brush of Trott’s fingers along his zipper.

“Hmm.” Trott smiled at the way the sweater rode up as Smith leaned forward. Letting go of Smith’s hair, he rubbed his hand under the sweater and over the fabric of his shirt. The blue made a nice contrast to the sweater. Smith braced his hands on either side of the mirror, and spread his feet. 

“I’m not going to fuck you,” Trott said.

Smith made a dismayed sound.

“But,” Trott continued, tracing Smith’s erection with his finger tips. “I might suck you off.”

“Please, please,” Smith whimpered. “Trott.”

“If I do this… then we’re going to get you two outfits, and some shoes. And you’re going to wear them for me.”

“Sure,” Smith agreed. He lifted his head to look back at Trott with wide eyes. “Whatever you want.”

“You’re going to wear them to a nice place, with me,” Trott amended.

“If that gets you off, then sure.” Smith nodded vigorously.

“What gets me off is the thought of tying you to the bed and peeling these clothes off you.” 

Smith moaned, delighted by the idea. 

“Hush, unless you want us to get kicked out of here.” This was turning out much more exciting than Trott had planned. Maybe the next time he’d bring something to gag Smith with, just in case. He glanced at the door, with its little slide lock. Just beyond their little space, he could hear the faint sounds of people, and the music of the store.

“Take off those pants.” Trott stepped back, watching Smith fumble with the zipper and shimmy out of the chinos. “You like them? We can get you another pair in a different color.”

“Sure,” Smith nodded. Trott moved closer, picking up the chinos and folding them carefully. Smith watched him, biting his lip. 

“I really like this sweater, even if it is more burgundy.” His hands slid over Smith’s chest and down to his boxer briefs. Smith opened his mouth, eyes closed. He struggled not to make a sound as Trott dragged the underwear down his hips to his thighs.

“You really do look lovely in these things,” Trott said. His voice was quiet and low, full of the fondness that so rarely found its way into words. With one careful hand, he stroked Smith’s cock, fingers sliding over the velvet soft skin.

“Trott,” Smith whispered.

“Be very quiet,” Trott warned. With one final glance at the door, Trott threw caution to the wind. He dropped to his knees and pressed kisses to the jut of Smith’s hip bones. He wrapped an arm around Smith’s thighs, feeling their warmth press into his chest.

The first touch of his lips made Smith jump, a tiny startled noise escaping his lips. He clapped a hand over his mouth, the other curling into a fist at his side. Smith concentrated on staying upright and silent, unable to moan or to adjust his footing. The lights made it just slightly too warm in the little room, and the heated press of Trott against his lower body only made it hotter. 

Trott kissed his way down the length of Smith’s cock, pausing to stroke him with his free hand. He gloried in the way Smith jerked and trembled under his touch, the yearning obvious in the cant of his hips, and way he pressed himself forward into Trott. 

“Fuck,” Smith whispered hoarsely. He struggled more to thrust blindly into Trott’s mouth. The hot, wet caress of his tongue nearly unmade Smith. He struggled to keep himself from moaning aloud as Trott worked his tongue up and down Smith’s cock. A shiver travelled up his spine, and Smith tossed his head with a breathy gasp.

Kneeling on the uncomfortable dressing room carpet, Trott enjoyed the way Smith trembled. He licked Smith with great deliberation, enjoying the way his cock twitched and Smith strained not to make his usual overly loud sounds. 

“You’re doing so well,” Trott soothed, squeezing him. Smith whimpered, the sound smothered against the back of his hand. Smiling, Trott kissed his stomach.

“Trott,” Smith whispered. _“Oh, oh, oh.”_

Trott shushed him, and took Smith’s cock into his mouth. He kept his arm tight around Smith’s legs, holding him up and holding him mostly still. 

Clenching his jaw, Smith let his head hang forward. He watched Trott’s head bob, sliding his hand along with his lips down Smith’s cock. The pressure and heat made him feel dizzy. Smith’s breath hitched as Trott sped up his strokes, working his hand fast and tight over Smith’s cock. He pulled off, looking up at Smith.

“Quiet,” Trott warned. He sucked the tip of Smith’s cock between his lips, still looking up. Smith opened his mouth, taking a deep breath. Desire burned in his stomach. The soft press of Trott’s lips, slipping down his length, pushed him right up to the edge. Fingers curled around the base of his cock. Smith’s hand rose, wavering, before he grabbed Trott’s shoulder to steady himself. 

_“Ffffuck,”_ Smith hissed as he came. He bit down hard on his lower lip, eyes shut tight. Pleasure overwhelmed him, and Smith might have stumbled if not for Trott holding him.

Shifting on his knees, Trott hugged Smith tightly. He swallowed, the familiar bitter taste of come filling his mouth. He was mildly impressed with Smith’s ability to keep himself quiet in the moment. Usually he was a mess of overly loud exclamations and begging.  

“Very good, sunshine.” Trott kissed his hip again, pulling Smith’s underwear back up and into place. He nuzzled Smith’s stomach before pushing back up onto his feet. 

“Fuck,” Smith whispered again. He sat down heavily on the bench in the dressing room. 

“So, you want the sweater?”

Smith opened his eyes, staring blankly at Trott for a moment. It very nearly made Trott laugh. 

“What?” he asked. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah, the sweater is nice.”

“We should go pick out some shoes to go with this,” Trott said, deliberately casual as he pulled the sweater off Smith and folded it.

“Going to give me a foot job?” Smith joked, grabbing his jeans. 

“At home, maybe.” Trott rolled his eyes. “Maybe we should get you these in grey too…” He considered the chinos carefully. Smith straightened from his slump, looking at the clothes in Trott’s hands.

“I still think it’s a lot of money.” Smith made his anxious face, brows pulled down. 

“Look, if I can’t blow money frivolously on the hot guy I’m banging, then what good is it?” Trott rolled his eyes. He was glad his parents never asked what he spent his birthday money on. This year he’d spent most of it on Smith, from buying a very nice set of leather restraints and fifty feet of bamboo bondage rope to the somewhat romantic pizza dinner they ate on the living room floor for Valentine’s day.  One pizza from the terrible place that Smith liked so much, with all the toppings, and one from the better place Trott preferred. Plus a very nice bottle of wine, and a late night with nowhere to be in the morning. He counted it as one of his better ideas. Smith had been over the moon about it. There was still some cash leftover, and Trott couldn’t think of anything he really wanted for himself. Dressing Smith up felt like a really indulgent thing to do instead. 

“You think I’m hot?” Smith grinned, grabbing his sweatshirt. He pulled it back over his head, mussing his hair further.

“Enough to risk getting kicked out of the store to blow you in here.” Trott unlocked the door, and peered outside. “Come on, let’s go.”

Smith followed him to the register, his cheeks still flushed. Trott didn’t say anything when Smith’s hand brushed his hip, resting there while Trott paid for the pile of clothes. Usually he’d discourage that sort of casual public display. But they were far from anyone who knew them, or anyone who could possibly say anything to his family.

“Thanks, Trotty.” Smith carried the bag of clothes, swinging it from two fingers.

“You’re welcome,” Trott said crisply. “Let’s get you some shoes.” Smith grinned. Trott put a hand on Smith’s back and pushed him out the door.


End file.
